The 150th Hunger Games: Gods and Monsters
by ThePandoraBox
Summary: Tamesis Appuru shouldn't be called into the arena. Someone should have taken her place; after all, District 2 should be swarming with volunteers. But what happens if, one year, that advantage is taken from them? Now Tamesis faces tributes who are just as bold as she is, and Districts aren't the problem. Will she rise, boldly like Zeus, or tumble into the smoldering flames of Hades?


"Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to The 150th Hunger Games! And may the odds be _ever _in your favour!"

_60._

The countdown begins, and my heart thuds like never before.

_59._

To my right is the girl from District 6, with her red hair frizzed and back with the wind.

_58._

I try not to focus on her tattoos; I never had a strong tolerance for pain.

_57._

Her eyes are trained on the stony maze beyond the Cornucopia, that seems to extend beyond the horizon.

_56._

I look at the ground, and I find a pattern of dirt and flat-topped stones.

_55._

The sky is littered with white clouds. Pink clouds. Mountain tops.

_54._

East of the District 6 girl lies a twisted forest. From what I can tell, the trees on the edges are olive trees.

_53._

Grapevines twist teasingly along the tan stone wall that separates the forest from the maze.

_52._

Facing forward once more, I see two gray shrine tables. Instead of sacrifices or offerings, they hold grapes and pomegranates in one bowls.

_51._

The cornucopia's stony metal edge reflects with what is behind me: a long stretch of sand followed by an ocean with starfish scattered among the sand.

_50._

I can see my own face in the reflection—tan, with long windswept hair.

_49._

The mountains to my right have a single peak and are no steeper than the ones back home, where I, alongside my brothers, carved heavy black stone that shined like metal in the setting sun.

_48._

My hands shake, and I swallow dryly and harshly.

_47._

To my left are the females from Districts 5 and 3, who eye each other cautiously before looking in opposite directions.

_46. _

The one closest to me, the girl from 5, has a devious sneer on her face.

_45._

Her dark brown hair is behind her shoulders, and her dark tan complexion falters with the coming and going of overhead clouds.

_44._

Although she is pudgy, I think nothing of it. She can be a threat either way; I've seen her throw knives at targets in the most cringeworthy of places.

_43._

The girl from District 3 has a faded face with yellowed skin and dark-rimmed eyes. It was undeniable that she had resorted to drugs after a sickened past.

_42._

Her hair is short and red, but not as red as the District 6 girl's. It is a darker, orange-hued red that adds a sense of perplexity to her appearance. Her ponytail is a bit messy, but nobody else seems to notice.

_41._

Her eyes are a peridot color. I feel as though if I look at them long, I will be able to see closer into them as I did once, sitting with her in the Training Center lunch table. We are yards away now, but death could change yards into many, many years.

_40. _

In the western region, the ground is mostly ash. It slopes downward, from which I can hear rushing water. The smell of pomegranates is stronger in this direction, and a sinking feeling accompanies it.

_39._

There are two mountain peaks to the northwest.

_38._

One of the peaks is faded, and I begin to wonder what evils have been released upon the mountainside.

_37._

The other peak is higher than I can imagine. The olive trees here battle the rocks in the soil for growth.

_36._

If I am not mistaken, I see lightning flash there from the corner of my eye. Looking back again, though, nothing seems affected.

_35._

I hear a rattling, slithering sound coming from the direction of the labyrinth.

_34._

Why should anyone go in there? You'd get lost, and probably die. But the bloodbath has not yet begun, so I can't prejudge the desperation it will cause.

_33._

Do I even have any allies? I can't join the careers. District Two is at a loss this year, because volunteering was not allowed. That was only part of the Quarter Quell twists.

_32._

I could ally with Yume, the fading girl from District 3. Her eyes, however, remind me of ticking clocks, and time was always an enemy.

_31._

I could ally with Haisa, the devious smiling girl from District 5. I could, but I shouldn't. Haisa can lie. She can kill, and steal, and her amber eyes could play with your mind like a chess game. I shudder at the thought of having that kind of manipulation from her.

_30._

I could ally with Awa, the tattooed girl from 6. But everything about her intimidates me, and it is no surprise she has an alcohol problem. Again, the tattoos bother me mentally.

_29._

There's many people that I could cross off the list as well—Rowynne, the disabled girl whose thin limbs and body are those of a ten-year-old. Or Annika, whose mad eyes crave attention, crave regeneration.

_28._

_What do I want, exactly? To win the Games...to survive? Or to escape, dying with only a painless flick of the knife..._

_29._

I breathe, shallowly, and scan the array of weapons and shrines placed among the Cornucopia. The one I am most familiar with, a pack of throwing knives, is placed on the outer edge of the weapon stock. I can tell that they are throwing knives by the size and the gleaming metal poking from the wrapping.

_28._

What I can't tell, though, is what they are wrapped in. It shines so that it is most likely plastic or leather. The dark color and the texture of the shining packaging suggests leather, although the darkened part could be plastic reflecting the cornucopia's metal.

_27._

About ten feet away from the pack of throwing knives lies a cleaver. There is a small, perfectly circular hole near the tip of the blade.

_26._

The cleaver lies only inches away from a sleek gray backpack, which, from as far as I can see, contains a water bottle as well as other supplies.

_25._

There is a rope near the backpack and in the mouth of the cornucopia I can see a silver, lightweight bow next to a sword with an ebony handle.

_24._

There are even two fishing poles leaning against the stone altar that is to the left.

_23._

I am wearing a sleek, black shirt made of thin but durable material under a dark green jacket with many pockets.

_22._

My slacks are more like dark leggings with a hard-to-see camouflage pattern. They have even more pockets and come down an equal distance from my knee and my ankle.

_21._

My dark brown boots cover up my skin, though. My stylist has decided to tuck my leggings over my boots. I didn't understand the meaning behind this until my pedestal was lifted and I found that my clothing conformed with the others.

_20._

The only differences in our clothing was the printed number on the backs of our shirts and jackets, probably to label us.

_21. _

Why would they need to label us, after all? I look down at my arm, at the tiny scar left by the tracker implementation.

_19._

The wind brushes against my face and I have to manually pull my hair back to keep it from sticking to the chapstick on my lips.

_18._

I can't decide if I want the cleaver or the throwing knives. Or if I should just run. I know I can't run from my problems forever but it would only create problems to do the opposite.

_17._

I feel my legs getting shaky but I tell myself I'm not going to be the loser who dies first by the land mines.

_16._

My competition looks moderate: most of the tributes are younger and weaker, it seems, because of the twist against volunteering.

_15._

I can feel my heartbeat quicken as I see that time is drawing nearer and nearer to the bloodbath...

_14._

I can't surrender myself to not picking a strategy. That would be foolish, and I have to win. I must tell myself that, death seems like something imaginary and I can't picture my cannon being fired ever.

_13._

I have to prove that my district is better than they have set it out to be...that we are not only victorious because of the volunteers...

_12._

The mere feeling of being seconds, feet away from death sounds scary and distorted. Like a nightmare I know won't happen, because it can't, I can't die.

_11._

The clouds add to the humidity in the air, and the light to my right leaves a gap of sunshine on the mountain. The dead dryness of the land southwest of me sends chills through my bones.

_10._

There are places to go, at least. There's the rattling labyrinth, the grapevine stone walls, the olive tree forest. There's the beach behind me and the never-ending skies.

_9._

All I have though... the only chance I can get to obtain a weapon or maybe even food lies before me. The dual stone shrines that hold fruit and the surrounding array of weapons and ammunition is the only thing that befuddles my decision and my mind itself.

_8._

The plump, evil-demeanored girl from District 5 seems ready to pounce on the sword, so I make a mental note to let her be. She seems lethal, but she herself has stronger competition.

_7._

There are some tributes that have won from being good at their interviews and putting on a show at the chariot parade. If anything I will win from what goes on in the arena and the arena alone.

_6._

I see the number flash yet again on the dirty metal's countdown frame and I swallow the lump in my throat the best I can. The voice on the loudspeaker takes care of the rest of it; with a booming voice he cries the end of the countdown that takes me out if delirium and into this prison.

_5._

_4._

_3._

_2._

_1._

The gong rings in my ears as I sprint to those throwing knives, my heart set on heading to the olive trees.


End file.
